Bella Lane · Poetry


I step into my skin
The skin of a pretender that is
Oh I wish that I could explore
But here I sit in this box

This skin is too tight
I pull at it throughout the day
All the while
That gnawing feeling in my pit
A voice yelling from below

What if I didn’t have this box
What if I was roaming a pasture
Breathing life into the sun
Running freely up the hill
Pouring my soul amongst the trees

I pull at my skin again
This box he made me
Much too small
Not enough room for adventure
Much too bare

The walls of this box are so thin
Did big brother do this on purpose?

He must know that this can’t contain me
A flimsy box could never hold an adventurer
A box merely holds me while I try not to burst

Is this what big brother wants?
He must know that a revolution is at hand
Boxes are not meant to contain people

Watch all he might
He must know that his ego is fragile
Our souls much too wild

I step outside my box
Back to my shelter I run
Peeling off that daily skin
The adventurer set free


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